


Songs on the Radio

by Blanquette



Category: Monsta X (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Musicians, Pining, Road Trips, Running Away, Song Lyrics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-10-09 16:40:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17410475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blanquette/pseuds/Blanquette
Summary: Hyungwon needs to escape. Jooheon takes him away.





	Songs on the Radio

**Author's Note:**

> This is the very first time I'm writing this pairing and I really hope I did okay.

**1.**

The pier is empty. Empty except him, long legs dangling over the dark water, and he would need only a push to be swallowed entirely. Hands gripping the edge he leans forward still, eyes lost on the water, until it is all that he sees. A darkness that fits all of him, and yet it is not enough, a tightness under his skin, pushing against his ribs until he can barely breathe. The dull throb in his injured hand mirrors the beatings of his heart and it hurts, it hurts still, yet he hardens his grip on the pier’s edge and wishes he could be strong enough to make it crumble in a sea of splinters.

The pier is empty still when snow falls, and he watches the flakes dissolve on the crests of the waves. It’s between dog and wolf still, the night descending slowly, and Hyungwon closes his eyes on the ocean to make it come faster, wishing for the washed-out greys of the evening to turn into the deep blacks of night. He doesn’t hear the footsteps behind him, doesn’t feel the body sitting next to his, not until there is a hand on his shoulder, squeezing softly.

“Hey, don’t fall asleep here.”

Hyungwon shakes his head, opening his eyes, and the snow is still falling amongst greying shadows.

“I’m not.”

“I got you ice. From the coffee shop.”

Jooheon’s holding out a bag, which Hyungwon takes wordlessly. He stares for too long at the colorful logo of the coffee shop before pressing the ice over his swollen knuckles. It burns.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go to a hospital?”

“Yeah, it’s fine.”

“It looks pretty bad.”

“I know.”

Jooheon nods, falling silent as his almond eyes trail from Hyungwon’s hunched form to the black expanse of the ocean. Here on the pier there is nothing else in sight, nothing but the snow gently falling, disappearing in the waves. They reached the end of the world, or so it seems; there is nowhere else to hide.

“What if you broke it? What if you cannot play again. Not like you used to.”

“It isn’t broken.”

Jooheon nods, sparing a glance at his companion. Hyungwon’s staring at his hand, at the bag of ice slowly melting on his swollen knuckles, on his folded fingers, too painful to strengthen, on the cuts over the back of his hand, still wet and bloody. Jooheon knows this hand well, he watched it embrace the cello often enough.

“Will you tell me what happened, now?”

A silence, Hyungwon’s lost gaze boring through his hand, through his lap, through the wood underneath to the depths of the ocean.

“I had enough.”

“Okay.”

Jooheon leans back on his hands, the wet wood cold under his touch. He looks up instead of down, to the sky overhead and the stars he cannot see, too much clouds and too much fog but it doesn’t matter; he paints them in his mind.

“Hey, you want to go somewhere?”

“Where?”

“I don’t know. We can just take a ride.”

Hyungwon finally looks up from cradling his wounds and his face is blank – there’s a veil in front of his eyes, and maybe it’s still only the snow he sees; Jooheon doesn’t know how to reach him.

“With what car?”

Jooheon shrugs, bringing his frozen hands into his lap, a futile attempt to warm them. There’s an ich at the back of his mind and he knows he probably shouldn’t, but Hyungwon’s staring and his eyes see nothing.

“We can always take my dad’s.”

“Are you suggesting we steal your dad’s car?”

“Drunks shouldn’t drive anyway, we would probably be saving lives.”

“Not his own I hope.”

Jooheon snorts, an ungainly sound that brings the ghost of a smile to Hyungwon’s lips and he doesn’t look so far away anymore.

“Yeah, definitely not. Let’s go.”

 

**2.**

It’s a small ordeal to get the car out, letting it hurtle down the sloping street, engine and headlights off so as not to alarm anyone in the small apartment above. But Hyungwon’s laughing, one unharmed hand clutching at the glove box, so Jooheon doesn’t mind, not even when a bump in the road sends his heart crashing against his ribs.

“Jooheon, do you even know where you’re going?”

“Not really. Right now I’m just trying not to kill us.”

Hyungwon laughs again and it’s almost normal, Jooheon thinks, almost nice, even if the car is freezing and it’s too dark to see anything, his feet crushing the brakes of his dad’s beat-up ride as his fingers fumble to turn on the engine. 

“Hey, do you remember the river we went to? On the last day of school. Let’s go there.”

The car finally turns on, a low rumble that soothes Jooheon’s flayed nerves, and he tries to lighten his grip on the wheel, knuckles white and fingers stiff. He drives slowly, the wipers clearing away the snow that gathered on the windshield. He knows the place Hyungwon is speaking of. He knows, too, why he remembered it. It was summer, when they went, the both of them. Warm days of freedom and bliss, skin golden under the sun, warm water to embrace their weightless bodies and it had been easy; Hyungwon was laughing, too-long hair plastered again his brow. He had been beautiful, like this, and Jooheon had tucked the image away, safely under his heart like a secret.

“It’s gonna be goddamn freezing now, though.”

“I don’t mind.”

“Alright. Let’s go, then.”

It had been the last time they could escape. After that, Hyungwon was back in the prison built by his genius; a prison made of expectations and the hopes of others. Jooheon had asked, once, what Hyungwon really wanted. _I don’t even know who I am_ , he’d said, and then he had smashed his pretty hand against the windows of his practice room.

“Wake me up, if I fall asleep.”

Jooheon nods, knowing that he won’t; Hyungwon’s weary, it’s in his eyes, in the lines of his face, it’s etched in his bones and it looks too much like he’s fading completely. So Jooheon turns up the heater, humming a slow song under his breath, and he wishes for a dreamless sleep to find a home in Hyungwon’s tired limbs.

“Jooheon?”

“Mh?”

“Thanks.”

“It’s alright. Anytime.”

When Jooheon looks there’s a slow smile on Hyungwon’s lips, something small and drowsy; this too finds a place under his heart, another treasure to hide away. And then he feels too vulnerable in the silence that stretches; the loudness of his beating heart must be deafening and it will betray him, betray the way his skin tingles whenever Hyungwon’s close, and the ache he feels as he watches his light go out.

“Maybe we should stop later for the night, yeah? I won’t be able to keep driving like this.”

Hyungwon nods and he’s already half gone it seems, sinking in the passenger seat; he looks rumpled and Jooheon smiles, something too fond, maybe, he feels exposed again and the gaze he turns back on the road is a bit fearful. The radio is a good diversion, but it’s too loud when he turns it on; he shuts it immediately, gaze fleeting to Hyungwon’s closed eyes. But he isn’t sleeping, not yet.

“Put it back on. I like this song.”

It’s just a piano, and a man singing, and it’s sad, it’s so sad, _sing me to sleep, sing me to sleep, I’m tired and I want to go to bed, sing me to sleep and then leave me alone_

_don’t try to wake me, in the morning_

_cause I will be gone_

 

Hyungwon sings and his voice is soft; eyes still closed he seems boneless, something almost languid to him that Jooheon always loved, and so he listens intently, eyes on the snowy road stretching in front of them and somewhere he wishes it would never end.

_Don’t feel bad for me, I want you to know, deep in the cell of my heart I will feel so glad to go, sing me to sleep, sing me to sleep, I don’t want to wake up on my own anymore…_

“Hyungwon?”

“Yeah?”

“This depresses me so much.”

Hyungwon laughs, cracking an eye open as he swats at Jooheon.

“It’s not so bad. There’s someone singing him to sleep, at least. _There is another world, there is a better world…_ There must be, you know.”

“You’re way optimistic.”

“Maybe. I don’t know. I just don’t wanna be sad anymore.”

And Jooheon wonders if it’s sadness that brought the cuts to his hand, the swell to his knuckles, the darkness swimming in his eyes. His gaze flickers to the wounded hand Hyungwon cradles in his lap as if he wished to keep it out of sight, and something aches between his ribs.

“You don’t have to be. Fuck the cello.”

“Fuck the cello?”

Hyungwon’s laughing again, shaking his head, now fully awake. The song ended and there’s talking now, but it’s Hyungwon’s voice Jooheon focuses on.

“It’s not the cello’s fault, it’s what people made of it. You know, I think I would have liked to be in a small band, something unpretentious. But apparently I’m good enough that I have to practice twenty-four seven to be even better and there’s all those schools and freaking auditions and I don’t want to go abroad, why should I go to Europe? To get better? I still don’t know who I'm trying to surpass. Why can’t I be enough the way I am? No one’s ever satisfied. I’m never enough.”

“So you smashed your hand cause you didn’t wanna go to Europe?”

“Yeah. And it was too hot in the room. It’s always so goddamn hot in there.”

“Next time you don’t feel like doing things just call me up, yeah? I’ll take you somewhere nice that isn’t Europe.”

When he peeks Hyungwon’s smiling, eyes closed. Jooheon stays silent, streetlights washing over the car and everything’s grey, Hyungwon’s hair and his lips and his long fingers that Jooheon loves and he was always enough, always enough.

“Hyungwon? I’m serious, you know? You can ask me for whatever. I won’t mind if it’s you.”

There is no answer; Hyungwon is asleep. Jooheon turns down the radio.

 

**3.**

The parking lot is almost empty and Jooheon stays there, sat behind the wheel, for a full two minutes before shaking Hyungwon’s awake. Cold is already sipping back into the car; the windows are fogging up and if Jooheon tries it seems that the world beyond their small vehicle is slowly fading, receding back into a primal obscurity embracing all that there is. Maybe he wouldn’t mind it too much.

Hyungwon’s moving, and soon enough they’re rushing towards the small building at the end of the parking lot, a childish fear of the dark and the emptiness dodging their heels. Hyungwon lets out a small laugh, grabbing at Jooheon’s wrist who’s running after him and something warm blooms between them, something of nervous laughter and a taste for adventure. Snow stuck in their hair, dampened their clothes; the warmth of the hotel lobby burns their fingers and Jooheon trudges to the counter hoping the crumpled bills in his wallet will be enough for one night.

It is, for a small room with two twin-beds and a small TV hooked to a computer. Hyungwon’s barely awake, face-planting on one bed as soon as he’s close enough, only nodding when Jooheon talks of showering, inarticulate words falling from his lips.

The warm water is welcomed on his stiff muscles and Jooheon stays too long under the spray, mind blank, staring at the tiled wall of the small bathroom. Shapes dance before his eyes, tiredness washing over him until he’s barely conscious of his own body, skin rosy and pruning; he blinks and his mind comes back to him from someplace near the ceiling where it hung deaf and dumb. There’s noise from the bedroom, noise that he hadn’t noted before and he rushes, the door spitting him in a small chaos.

“What’s going on?”

Hyungwon’s smiling, grabbing at Jooheon’s wrist to tug him into himself and Jooheon lets him, he lets him and they’re both spinning, laughing over the too-loud music, Jooheon’s wet hair dripping on their clothes. A song is blaring, something fast and loud and _it’s just a tale of a heart attack, you feel alive but you’re sinking fast,_ and something’s bursting behind Jooheon’s ribs and he’s laughing, weightless and easy and Hyungwon’s so close, so close, _I wanna feel the light I just can’t receive, don’t wanna leave the ground I just need some air, I need some air_ and yeah, Jooheon’s barely breathing, too much noise and Hyungwon’s right there, up in his space and he’s all that there is, he’s all that there is and if he would reach out he could touch him but he doesn’t, just watches as Hyungwon falls on a bed, out of breath and still laughing, arms spread and chest heaving.

The song switches to something slower and Jooheon knows that the moment has passed, something wistful descending upon them as he sits on the edge of the bed where Hyungwon lies.

“Feeling better?”

Hyungwon nods, rolls on his side to stare at Jooheon, face pillowed on his arm. He’s disheveled, lines in his face as if he fought a war and maybe he did, something small and personal that left behind a wasteland. Jooheon’s gaze falls, to his own hands sagely folded in his lap, and he wants to touch, he wants to feel but there’s too much at stake so he keeps them close to him as vines grow thick around his heart.

“I felt as if I was buried deeper than the ground.”

Hyungwon closes his eyes, as he always does when he speaks of the weight dragging him down; but words are lighter at night and it’s all right, if for a little while.

“Every day is exactly the same and there is no room to move. And no one knows me, really, not even myself, because for as long as I can remember it has only been this, practice rooms and beautiful pieces that I could play better if only I worked more, but I can’t stretch time and there’s so much I can do before my fingers bleed.”

It wasn’t sadness, that brought the cuts to Hyungwon’s hand, Jooheon now understands. It was a small revolt, a curious bid as freeing himself from a role that was imposed upon him, a role he played well until he didn’t know who he was underneath, nothing there apart from the genius musician, the prodigy. Jooheon thinks there’s merit in being mediocre, after all; merit and freedom. At least he could choose a path, even if it was the wrong one, nothing much expected, nothing owed.

“I’m only worth something when I play. If I lost my hands I might as well be dead.”

“That’s not true.”

Jooheon wants to say more, wants to say something about the way his being expands everytime Hyungwon’s near, how he makes him better, but those words carry too much so instead he lays down next to Hyungwon, and maybe his warmth can communicate what his words cannot.

“The people who made you feel this way – your parents, the teachers, whatever. They were wrong. It makes me so mad, if I didn’t already have a record I’d go bust some heads, but really, you’re worth so much more, you need to know that. And even if you aren’t, who cares? Even if you’re worth nothing you have a right to live. You’re not here to please anyone.”

“You know, I kind of admire you.”

“What? Why?”

Jooheon turns to look and Hyungwon’s eyes are huge in the dim light.

“You’re just, I don’t know. Strong. I wish I was more like you. It wouldn’t have come to this if I was.”

“This isn’t so bad, though. Apart from the whole busted hand business I mean.”

A giggle, Hyungwon rubbing his face with his able hand as he nestles more comfortably against Jooheon.

“Right. Maybe we should run away more often. Maybe not with a stolen car, though.”

“It’s merely borrowed. He won’t notice until he sobers up anyway and that can be anywhere between one to three days so we’re good.”

He feels Hyungwon nod against his shoulder, hears him sigh, and maybe his eyes are fluttering close, or maybe they stay open and wide, as they are when he thinks too hard.

“Jooheon?”

“Mh?”

“I’m gonna fall asleep now. Can you stay?”

“Sure.”

A hand snakes into his and Jooheon laces their fingers together, eyes riveted to the ceiling and heart hammering in its cage. 

“Can you sing?”

“Sing you to sleep?”

“Yeah.”

And Jooheon does, grip tightening on Hyungwon’s hand, willing shapes to form on the darkened ceiling as he lets words fall from his lips in a soft voice, until Hyungwon’s weight sinks into him, until his soft breathing lets him know he is asleep.

_We sleep for a while but then you are gone, and all I have left is the story_

_all I can see before me is the darkest blues_

_because I slip to the depths_

_without you_

 

**4.**

“Jooheon?”

“Mh?”

“You awake?”

“I am now.”

“It hurts. Like my heart is beating in my hand.”

His eyes open and the ceiling is white now, light pouring in from the window they didn’t curtained. He sits up, brushing sleep out of his eyes before looking down at Hyungwon laying next to him, at the hand resting against his belly and it looks worse than the day before, knuckles red and swollen.

“We need to do something about this.”

“But we’re going to the river.”

“The river isn’t going anywhere.”

“I don’t want to go back, not yet.”

Jooheon sighs, but it’s true, he doesn’t want to go back either, not yet. Maybe Hyungwon feels it too, the hush that descended upon them, as if they were fugitives from time itself; they carved out a small respite, its entirety contained between the dirty windows of a stolen car, and it’s too early, too early to leave it behind.

“I’ll just go down and find a pharmacy, alright? And get us some food. You stay here and you don’t move.”

Hyungwon nods, listening to the door closing behind Jooheon, to his footsteps retreating in the corridor. He closes his eyes and lets his body dissolve against the mattress, but the pain from his hand anchors him too deep in his own flesh; a low pulse burning through his veins that gives no relief. Something is wrong, he knows, his fingers stiff, too painful to move, and maybe he did it, this time, maybe he burned his tomorrows in a hail of broken glass.

It is strange, that he feels no fear. That he feels nothing, apart from the burning pain radiating up his arm, and he opens his eyes to stare unblinkingly at the ceiling, waiting for something that doesn’t come. He wonders, what there is left after you destroyed everything you had. And he thinks of Jooheon, of this strength that he envies, of his rage, the small fire burning within him and maybe that’s why Hyungwon always gravitates back to him, despite everything. He’s the only warmth in the desert of snow he traipses in.

The door opens but it mustn’t have been that long, or maybe it has, Hyungwon isn’t quite sure time doesn’t stop in this little room.

“When I said don’t move I didn’t mean you had to stay on the bed.”

Jooheon sits on the edge of the mattress and his face is pink from the cold, beanie pulled down to his eyebrows. Hyungwon stares.

“They gave me some stuff and showed me how to bandage it but we really should go to a hospital, I’ll take you after the river, okay?”

Hyungwon nods, sitting up, holding out his wounded hand to Jooheon. He nurses it with slow, awkward gestures and the bandages aren’t tight enough but Hyungwon says nothing, he just stares at Jooheon and it seems that it’s the first time he sees him; the focused set of his brow, the slight frown of his mouth, the edges of his cheekbones and his eyes, most of all, his eyes and the way they soften, sometimes, when he thinks no one’s looking.

“Jooheon?”

“Yeah?”

Jooheon looks up from his work and Hyungwon’s words die on his lips.

“Nothing. Just, thanks.”

“Yeah, anytime.”

They make short work of emptying the room, munching on convenience-store food, and when they leave the key in the little basket at the reception Hyungwon stares at the number on the keychain. Another moment has passed that he will never get back and Jooheon is already walking to the car, shoulders hunched against the cold, and Hyungwon thinks that maybe he wouldn’t have mind staying there forever, the two of them in a little room, hidden away and forgotten.

But Jooheon turns back, yelling at him to hurry up, breath clouding in the freezing air and so Hyungwon moves, half-running; there’s a fire he will follow anywhere.

 

**5.**

The car is freezing and Jooheon keeps his coat and beanie on until the heater finally does its job. He drives slowly, snow covering the grounds and tall trees on either side of the road hiding the light. They’re going up the mountain, where he knows the river is waiting.

The little station at the bottom was closed. They had rented bikes there, that last time, had eaten in its restaurants and played games in the arcade. But it was a ghost town, now, and they had walked in silence as if crossing a graveyard; when Hyungwon had taken his hand Jooheon’s heart had skipped a beat.

“I didn’t remember it was this far up.”

Jooheon spares a glance at Hyungwon, who pillowed his head against his scarf, wedged between him and the car’s window. He’s staring at the trees outside, a soft light falling on him and he looks pale, too pale.

“It’s just cause I’m going slow. This car is too shitty to drive uphill on snow.”

They fall silent, and soon it seems as if talking would be a sacrilege. Up the mountain the evergreens are older, thicker, too, and maybe they should ask for permission before entering their domain. A pilgrimage, that’s what this is, a pilgrimage to happier times where it seemed the world was still theirs to take. But it never was, and they couldn’t change it, they couldn’t, and Hyungwon’s too pale against the window, a heart of broken glass bleeding with each pounding beat.

 _Swallow what’s still brave in you, like metal in your jaw_ , sings the man on the radio, but Jooheon isn’t sure there’s anything brave left in him; all he can offer is a brief escape. _And it’s written on a sea of love, and it’s all I can leave you, babe, cause the world was never yours; nothing I can change_ … He looks at Hyungwon again, at the wistful set of his lips and he wonders where they went, the shirtless boys riding bicycles under the summer sun, laughing as they jumped in the flowing river; it was never easy but at least they had hope, a hope that crumbled under Hyungwon’s fists and Jooheon’s fears.  

“It’s there.”

Hyungwon’s pointing at the end of the road, where it leads to a small parking lot, and a trail winding up the mountain, to the river flowing between the pines. Jooheon parks and they stay in the car for a little while, wondering, maybe, what they will find up there. It’s a short walk, but it’s tough in the snow; Hyungwon has to lean on Jooheon and it’s a strange sight that they make, trudging up the path with a wavering stance.

The pines finally part on naked banks, the river they sought frozen over almost entirely, a thin stream still flowing in its middle. Hyungwon goes as close as he dares, crouching on hard rocks, Jooheon standing next to him.

“It’s still beautiful. Even frozen over like this.”

“Yeah, it is.”

They fall silent, shivering under the cold wind, in this place straight out of memories they’re painting again on the banks, two boys laughing, falling in, skin golden and eyes bright, and they changed so much, they did, but somehow they remained the same and it was always just the two of them.

“Jooheon?”

“Yeah?”

“I lied.”

“What?”

Hyungwon’s curled up on himself, his bandaged hand disappearing up in his sleeve; his eyes are decidedly staring ahead but his voice’s wavering.

“It hurts too much. Inside and out. Maybe it is broken, I don’t know. I don’t think I can play again.”

Jooheon’s gaze falls to Hyungwon, to the top of his head where snow flakes hang, his shivering form curled up on the river bank and it’s so far, it’s so far from everything Jooheon wants for him; he needs him to be golden and warm again, and he crouches next to him, offering what little warmth he still has.

“It’s gonna be okay. We’ll take you to a hospital and they’ll fix it.”

“What if they do? What if they do, and it starts all over again, as if nothing ever happened.”

“What do you want, Hyungwon?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know.”

Hyungwon’s weight sinks into Jooheon and he puts an arm around him, holding him there, as safe as he can make it and it was never enough but he tried, he really did, as Hyungwon kept slipping away, down, down a river he couldn’t follow.

“It’s okay, Hyungwon, I’ll stay with you anyway.”

Hyungwon nods, something weak that Jooheon hates, and they stay like this, sinking into each other, near a frozen river where their memories lay. Something that isn’t snow wets Jooheon’s coat and he tighten his hold on Hyungwon, staring at the water and ice; and it’s too much like a funeral, a good-bye to something that was and something that could have been. The vines around his heart yet tighten their hold and his skin is burning despite the cold; something must give, something must give or he too will sink down the river.

“Hyungwon?”

“Mh?”

“Let’s go back, yeah?”

“Yeah, okay.”

They stand and Jooheon keeps his hold on Hyungwon. He feels boneless against him and he’s still too pale, something feverish to his eyes that translates an ache running deeper than flesh. The car is too far yet too close, and Jooheon wonders if Hyungwon feels it too, the pull, if he’s loath to leave as well, knowing what awaits them. And yet they have to, their respite coming to an end as time catches up restlessly. Jooheon sits behind the wheel and wonders how much more he can ask for.

 

**6.**

He’s still wondering, later, after hours of a road that seems to never end, after Hyungwon fell asleep and woke-up twice, each time more feverish than the last. How much more can he ask for, and would it be selfish, to keep Hyungwon for a little longer? But time he does not have, he knows the angry red streaks under the bandages and they already wasted too much, and it was stupid, he knows, but there’s _rows of houses all bearing down on me, I can feel their blue hands touching me, all these things into position, all these things will one day swallow whole and fade out again and fade out_ and Hyungwon’s fading and he doesn’t know how to keep him there; there’s thorns under his skin growing until he’ll shred to pieces.

He turns down the radio, sparing a glance at Hyungwon who’s head lolled back against the seat, eyes closed, asleep. Eyes back on the road there’s words pushing at his lips and for once he lets them, here in the secluded space of their stolen car where it’s safe, he knows it is, and the snow will swallow all anyway.

“Hyungwon? You asleep?”

There’s no answer, not a stir from the boy at his side and Jooheon’s grip tightens on the wheel.

“Hyungwon, you can ask me anything, you know that, yeah? I’d steal a thousand cars if you need to run away again and I hate it, I hate that they made you like this. I, I mean. I love you. I really do.”

“You what?”

That he doesn’t send the car flying on the highway is a small miracle in itself, the wide-eyed stare he sends Hyungwon’s lasting too long before he gazes back to the road, with such intensity he sees the windshield blowing to pieces.

“How much did you hear?”

“I heard the ‘I love you’ part.”

“Great.”

“You don’t mean it in a friendly way, right?”

Jooheon considers lying, but Hyungwon deserves the truth, and he would know, anyway, each small betrayal glaring in his eyes.

“No, I don’t.”

Hyungwon falls silent, and Jooheon’s voice loses its way in his throat; he feels too warm, suddenly, and when he looks Hyungwon has closed his eyes again. But he’s only thinking, he knows, and he didn’t think it could be this terrifying.

“Since when?”

“Since the day at the river, maybe, before the last day of school. That’s when I knew, at least.”

Hyungwon nods, as if watching pieces finally fit together.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“So many people expect things from you. I didn’t want you to think I did, too. And I know I can’t… Ask you to love me back, you know, so really, there was no point in saying anything. I just. I wanted to stay something simple.”

“Something simple.”

“Yeah.”

“If I wasn’t this close to passing out I’d deck you one.”

“Smash the cello next time, keep your fist for my face.”

Hyungwon laughs and things are strangely normal again, despite the tumult inside Jooheon, despite his dry throat and sweaty hands.

“It’s worth a lot.”

“More than you are?”

“Now than I know you love me you can’t go around saying stuff like that anymore.”

“Why not?”

“Because… I don’t know, it does stuff to me.”

“It does stuff. To you?”

Jooheon glances at Hyungwon again and he’s staring out the window, turned away on his side but Jooheon can still see the rosy tint of his cheeks.

“Are you freaking blushing?”

“Maybe, shut up.”

And Jooheon does, a strange giddiness blooming in his belly as he takes the next exit on the highway, the one that will bring them home. The vines around his heart aren’t so tight anymore and he can breathe easy, even as the lights of the city replace the shine of the snow.

 

**7.**

Hyungwon was right. Seated in a cozy chair with a splint on his hand he listens to a young doctor tell him how serious the damage he did to his hand is, that he waited for too long before seeking care, that he might not be able to play like he used to; there’s a strangled noise next to him, his mother, maybe, but Hyungwon is only half listening, trying instead to identify the feelings coursing through him. Fear, and pain, and sadness, too, but something else, something akin too much to relief and he knows he shouldn’t feel this way but he does; and suddenly he’s tired of this stuffy office, of the vice grip his mother keeps on his able hand. It’s too warm, here, too warm, and he abruptly stands up, muttering something about needing air. No one comes after him.

He looks but Jooheon’s nowhere to be found. When he goes to the place where they parked the car, it is gone. He sits on the curb then, fishing his phone out of his pockets. Jooheon sounds far away when he answers.

“Where the heck are you?”

“I went to return the car.”

“How did it go?”

“As well as you could expect.”

“When can we meet up?”

“You’re done already?”

“No, but I don’t care, they did whatever they needed to do and now it’s just talking. Let’s meet up.”

“To do what?”

“Hang. I’m hungry.”

“Alright.”

And it’s easy, and nothing changed, but then again everything did. Jooheon’s smiling and Hyungwon stares, he stares like he did another lifetime ago in a small hotel room; and Jooheon looks new, eyes soft, dimples creasing his cheeks and Hyungwon wants to touch, his soft hair and his hard cheekbones, his full cheeks and full lips. He wants to touch but not yet, he needs to be sure, he needs to let this grow, he needs to know the name of the dip his heart takes when he sees him.

 

**(8.**

Hyungwon plays and it sounds different. It’s not as sharp, not as precise, and there’s no more talks of Europe, no more auditions and stuffy practice rooms where he’s locked in for the day. He tires more quickly, too, and when it rains his fingers hurt.

Hyungwon plays and it sounds different. Jooheon says he likes it better, like this. He likes it better because there’s life in it, it’s not perfect but it has character, and Hyungwon laughs, he laughs and when he kisses him he tastes like freedom.)

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Songs are, in order:  
> Asleep - The Smiths  
> Need some air - BRMC  
> The depths - Interpol  
> Haunt - BRMC  
> Street Spirit - Radiohead
> 
> Thank you for reading!! You can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/BlanquetteAO3) or [Tumblr](https://blanquette.tumblr.com/) or even [curious cat](https://curiouscat.me/Blanq) because a bitch can't get enough apparently.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Until There Was Nothing Here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18175460) by [Delia_Sky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delia_Sky/pseuds/Delia_Sky)




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